


TAROT MOON

by sweetwines



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: 1940s, Angst, Angst and Tragedy, Bucky commits quickly apparently, Clairvoyant OC - Freeform, Cliche, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Fluffy, POC Original Character - Freeform, POV Third Person, Soulmates (almost), Wartime Romance, a lot of fluff, fast burn romance, oc is a witch, ongoing work
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-13
Updated: 2019-12-12
Packaged: 2021-02-25 23:01:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,835
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21773344
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sweetwines/pseuds/sweetwines
Summary: Jules Smith is a natural witch. The power of intuition was taught to her from when she was young- how to read people and auras, tarot and stars. She knows things that are otherwise impossible to know- like what career a child would grow up to have, how many hours sleep a person will be getting tonight and whether it will be replenishing, whether a stranger prefers tea or coffee.But she was never as powerful as she should have been. She never knew what was important.She never knew when the war would be over. She didn't know what areas of London would be bombed that night. She didn't know where her brother was, and she didn't know if the man she was falling in love with would survive the war.But still she fell. Unable to stop herself.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Original Female Character(s)
Kudos: 6





	TAROT MOON

**LONDON TOWN: late summer, 1943**

Jules could never get the smell of gunpowder out of her skin at the end of the working day.

She scrubbed and scratched at it each evening, but the scent stayed rigid, like balm around her tawny skin. In the end, she'd always give up- before she knew it, Jules would be back in the munitions factory handling the very stuff, so it was a fruitless effort.

The smell of smoke was always around her too. The streets of London were bathed in it constantly these days. Same for Cardiff, and Belfast, and Glasgow, she's heard. _The Great British incense_ , her aunt had called it, and all the city had to stride through rubble left by German bombs on their daily commutes.

It was even harder for her. Impossibly hard to see. Jules knew each building. She knew who had lived there, what they'd lost, what memories lay between the cracks in the bricks. It wasn't because she was a local that she knew it all so well. Jules was far from local, always a Northern girl at heart, her upbringing lying in the west.

Jules Smith came from a family of natural witches. She knew things about places and people without asking, or witnessing it all. She wielded her intuition to see beyond the observable, handled tarot cards and crystals, and tea leaves. She could brew elixirs and cordials for recreational and medicinal purposes.

And she never interacted with any one person in her life without taking a good look at their aura, first.

Like now, on another smoky evening in The Firefly Inn, as she readied herself for the stage. See, Jules could never get the smell of gunpowder out of her skin at the end of a day working munitions. But she could have a scrub, and change out of her uniform into her singing dress, topaz and shining. She could pump her atomiser and pat in powder until she felt something more than the number of shells she had to put together to make target. The weight and reminder that their boys in France were relying on them.

"Smithy! They're getting impatient and so am I," the voice was Jacko, the pub landlord, and technically Jules' boss, although he paid her only in left over rations. Which was fine, as long as she could sing. "You look pretty enough as it is, any more and you'll drive the boys mad."

"Who says I'm singing for the boys?" Jules grinned, glancing over to the plump man who stood at the doorway, leaning on his wooden crutch. She clicked her compact shut, pointedly. "Who says I'm pretty for them?"

"They're coming for you, those soldier lads, that's all I know," Jacko said, gruffly. "And not for scrawny Tim and his trumpet."

Jules could feel his anxieties- Jacko was always easy for her to read, his aura large and red and obvious as he was. Now, he worried about keeping customers satisfied, but there was more than that. He wanted to get the most out of business before daylight hours shortened and blackout hours lengthened. The pub would likely have to shut for all of winter come November. Jules could see it, plain a fact as any- Jacko worried his customers wouldn't come back, even when The Firefly's doors reopened.

"This place is more than a singer and a trumpet player," Jules said, sincerely. "If we moved they wouldn't move with us. They come for camaraderie."

She wasn't lying. Jacko was a veteran, fought hard in the Great War and lost a leg for it. It was why all the soldiers who drank here told their friends to do the same. Camaraderie was what kept The Firefly running when most other places closed. The soldiers kept the revolving door going great by word of mouth.

The revolving door would shut because of the Blitz. That was another thing Jules knew, inexplicably, due to her abilities. She couldn't see how, or when, but she knew it, and it pained her to know it.

Jacko looked at her for a long moment, surprised as always that she knew exactly what to say. Most people had no clue how she knew. In these modern times, Jules could get away with saying she reads tarot as light entertainment, but to identify herself as a natural witch... Nobody would believe her. Or worse, they would.

"Do that Lady song you like to start off with," Jacko said, shortly, pushing open the door to the taproom for her. She could hear the brass music already.

"Sophisticated Lady,"Jules corrected with a chuckle, as they approached the makeshift stage area. The taproom was near full tonight, at least forty guests, most in uniform, a few ladies scattered about, and the barmaids too.

"All the boys think you mean them with the romantic songs," Jacko added, his voice lower now there were customers around. "With any luck, you might get a few drinks out of them."

"You can't fix me something up?" Jules teased. Jacko raised an eyebrow. "Even if I'm on my best behaviour?"

"You get a lemonade," Jacko said, eventually, and she smiled widely. "Get to the bar when you're done."

"Fizzy?" Jules asked innocently, although she knew there was no such thing.

"Fizzy?" Jacko exclaimed, his face growing red. _"Fizzy!_ Let me just dial the rations office because Smithy wants a bloody _fizzy_ lemonade- We don't _have_ the fizzy shite and even if we did-"

"And here we have our very own Smithy!" Jules hadn't noticed young Tim's music stop until he announced her, and she stifled a laugh to realise the bar had fallen silent just as Jacko had begun his rant.

The talk of the room started up fairly quickly though, the soldiers and locals falling back into their conversations. Perfect. She could blend in the background and sing as if in private.

Jules stepped up to the microphone, tracing the sleek cool metal of it as she cleared her throat. She was just about to ask Tim for the music when she felt a gentle pull towards the room, a feeling that she should be seeking something... or someone.

She focused on the auras of the room, faded greens and yellows and purples, until she noticed the clearest one- a baltic blue, beckoning her in a curious way. Jules shook her head, blinking briefly, and let the colours of the auras fade to reveal the people behind them.

The blue belonged to soldier at the bar. She couldn't see much as he faced away, but she could see his hair was dark, and although he was seated, he seemed tall enough. As if by her calling to him, he looked towards the stage, and she caught his eyes for a moment, and for a minute, she couldn't force herself to snap out of it. The soldier looked away, anyhow. 

"Smithy!" Tim's voice again, the teenage boy standing much closer now. His eyes were excited. "Brass?"

"Er, piano please, Tim," Jules said, sad to disappoint, and the boy complied,

She focused. Let herself sink into the chords of the music, imagine the sweeping brass of the record, and found her voice in the midst of it. Jules sang gentle and forceful, and poured her heart into it.

She sang four more songs, each of them lighting something within her for a few minutes each.  
Catharsis. She didn't let herself cry.

Two more songs. Seven in total. Swing, and jazz- big band without the big band- Jules sang it all. She would have carried on for another ten songs, if poor Tim wasn't their only musician, and she was sure his fingers were probably sore from the piano.

"I can do some more trumpet for us, Smithy," Tim said, when the applause was over, the brass instrument by his side. He'd played it for the last four songs.

"Do you have any breath left for that?" Jules laughed, and the fifteen year old rolled his eyes.

"Do you have any breath left for singing?" Tim said, smartly. She had no argument for that, simply hugged him tight and ruffled his hair. 

"We're only supposed to do five songs, Tim," Jules said. "If we play all night, Jacko won't be able to shut in time for blackout." 

"I wish we could shoot those Germans out of the sky," he said, firmly. "They wouldn't try dropping any bombs after that."

"We don't have to shoot the Germans," she said, simply. "The men on the front are fighting for us."

"I wish _I_ could fight," Tim said. "If only they'd let me."

"You?" Jules laughed, loudly, but she was actually terrified by the prospect. "Lad, I know you've had your growth spurt, but you barely slipped through evacuation!"

"Don't you patronise me, you're not much older! The gap is-"

"-Is significant enough for me to tell you what to do," Jules laughed. "Now beat it, kid, while I get a drink."

"Just be careful of that man over there," Tim said, gesturing behind her. Jules peeked over her shoulder to realise he was pointing out the soldier she'd noticed earlier, and the pull she felt still wasn't gone. "He's been looking far past the performance."

Jules looked back over at Tim, a smile playing on her lips. "Oh, I'll be careful."

When Tim left her, she made a beeline for the bar, sitting herself down on a stool, two seats away from the soldier as she asked for her promised lemonade. Jules didn't stare, but she did make sure to get a proper look before she moved any closer.

He was a looker, that was for certain. A chiselled jaw and dark hair, and the Allied uniform so well-fitting. He didn't notice her though- his eyes glued to a paper in his hands. A letter, she realised, written in scratchy charcoal pencil as opposed to ink, a drawing of a city's buildings beneath the writing.

That pull in energy still wasn't satisfied, so Jules moved herself over to the seat nearest the soldier. He didn't look up, but he tucked away the letter so quickly, she could've questioned whether she'd seen it. She considered, for a moment, whether she should try to tune into her intuition for more information, find out more about who'd been writing. Then she decided against it- a gross invasion of privacy it was, to read a person's post. Even if indirectly.

"How long are you here?" Jules said, and the man didn't look her way. He only stared ahead at the liquor shelves. It wasn't the right question, she knew right away.

"You won't guess?" He looked at her at last, but it was like he had to drag his mind to do it. His eyes were icy blue. Matched his aura.

Jules let herself laugh, as light and airy and feminine as she could manage. She focused her intuition, gave it a moment to settle in, letting the warm invisible hands reach out the way her aunt taught her, read him like Braille.

"Four nights. Five days. You're leaving on the fifth morning," Jules said, and satisfaction ran through her as he shrugged, confirming her reading.

Despite his casual gesture, this man had the same energy all the soldiers had before leaving for the frontlines. A fear at the thought. For some of the men they stank of it, shaky hands and avoidance of the topic.

Some men, like this one, were more subtle. His hands were steady, yes, but there was a tightness in the brow no worried man could shake.

"Impressive," he nodded. "Guess you get a lot of my type these days."

"Soldiers? Yes. Not many of your lot until recently, though," she sighed. "I'd never have pinned you as an American."

Jules noticed the barmaid slide over her lemonade and the man's drink, and she didn't miss how the woman's eyes lingered on the soldier before them. He didn't look twice at her, though, only kept his eyes on Jules. The barmaid gave up after a second or two.

"What did you think I was before I opened my mouth?" the soldier smiled, resuming their conversation swiftly. "I hope it was something charming."

"I was getting an Italian energy," she answered, truthfully. If she were her aunt, she would have known he wasn't Italian without looking at him. Jules wasn't her aunt. She knew she ought to give up trying to be.

"Great," the man laughed, loudly. "So, you only thought I was a spy!"

"Not a joking matter, soldier, not here," Jules said, quickly, and his smile fell. "You'll get yourself into deep trouble."

The man took a sip of his drink. Whiskey. She could smell it, stronger than every other drink in this place. She searched for his name, and found it in her intuition. 'James'. It was sweet to her for some reason.

She shifted in her seat, sliding her lemonade bottle over to him, and smiling sweetly, hoping her perfume had lingered long enough to last tonight.

"I can never get those awful metal caps off," she asked, leaning in close. He looked between her and the bottle. "You'll do it, won't you?"

Without a word, and without dropping her gaze, he took the bottle in his hands and there was no satisfying fizz, but instead a cold steam rising between them. He handed the open bottle back to her shortly after. She took a sip, sitting back on her barstool once more.

"You got a name, sugar?" James asked, and Jules let her eyes wander off towards the smoke filled room behind him. He immediately turned his head to follow her gaze, looking between her and the door. "Or you got somewhere to be?"

Truth was, Jules had nowhere to be, and even if she did, she'd much rather stay here with the handsome soldier whose energy was so magnetic to her. But she knew even without reading him, that this 'James' could likely have any woman in all of London, so her best bet was to keep him on his toes.

"I might do," Jules grinned. "Jules Smith. And you'll call me Smithy, not sugar."

"I don't get a first name basis?" he asked, quipping an eyebrow. "Sugar?"

"You haven't earned it yet, James," she laughed, and she only realised her mistake when he frowned, leaned away from her slightly.

"I don't remember saying my name, ma'am," James said, slowly, and Jules could've kicked herself.

She was lucky though, as his shift backward revealed the small initials embroidered on his uniform. Jules frowned back at him, as if the entire situation was ridiculous.

"Well, it says it right there," she chuckled, brushing her manicured hand against the felt. _"'J. Barnes'_ is yourself, is it not?"

"It is," he said, but she knew he was still unconvinced. "But how'd you get James?"

"People are extremely predictable," Jules said, simply. "James is consistently in the top three most popular names for the past three decades. Aside from 1915, of course, when you were beat by 'Robert'. And I doubted the letter 'J' would stand for that."

There was a hint of a smile at the corner of his lips as he drank again, and Jules almost let out a sigh of relief. She didn't let herself relax too much though- the gentle pull she'd felt between them had become uneasy, and she didn't believe her babbling lies would calm it.

"First you know my schedule, then my name," James said, with a chuckle. "I'm beginning to think maybe _you're_ a spy."

Jules' heart leapt at that, her eyes instantly darting around the room, only to realise that nobody had heard him. Much to her relief. She relaxed, and took a shaky breath.

"I told you not to joke about that. Do I have to spell it out for you?" she said, patting a hand to her forehead. "A woman I knew, she worked munitions with the rest of us, she was accused... three months ago, maybe four. The point is, she was never seen again. Maybe it was true, maybe it wasn't. But nobody will hesitate to turn on their neighbours if you give them an excuse to."

"I'm sorry, I... it won't happen again," he said, and if the stakes weren't so high, Jules would've felt bad for telling him off. "Anyway, people don't call me that. James. I go by Bucky."

"That's ridiculous," she deadpanned.

"And Smithy isn't?" Bucky replied, and she couldn't help but smile.

"I feel like I know you," Jules blurted, and she felt the heat of a flush rise to her cheeks when he quipped an eyebrow. She'd done such a good job of staying cool, and now she was ruining it.

Bucky only looked at her long and hard for a moment, before shaking his head, and sipping his drink again.

"What?"

"Nothing."

 _"What_ , James?"

"I told you, it's Bucky."

"Don't change the topic, _James,"_ Jules tutted. "What?"

He didn't answer straight away, she could see he was thinking of something to say. But the delay was so quick she couldn't point it out in time before he spoke.

"Well, I was going to ask if you'd ever been to New York," Bucky chuckled. "But, I would never forget a face like yours."

Jules hated that she was rendered completely useless at that. This soldier had turned it all around on her, she'd gone from complete control of the conversation, to none at all. And what's worse, was that Bucky had the most satisfied smile on his stupid, handsome face- like he knew that he'd unravelled her whole game, and loved it.

Maybe because he played a game that was so similar- flirtatious, witty and alluring, all while giving off half a sense that he wasn't interested at all. Jules knew he was though, and not for vanity. The pull she'd felt between them was back again.

"One of the boys said we were best staying in the States," Bucky said casually. "Said British girls were 'frigid', but you don't seem so bad."

Jules' jaw dropped at that, and she stood from her seat. "That's supposed to be a _compliment_ , is it? Supposed to make me feel special?"

He seemed to immediately realise his mistake, following her as she walked away without another word, except polite _excuse me_ 's to the people she passed. The pull was gone completely. In fact, she would almost go as far as to call it a push.

"That clearly means something more awful than what Tommy said," she heard Bucky speak quickly, as he stumbled after her through the crowd. "I didn't mean to offend-"

 _"Tommy_ clearly wants to harm whatever slim chance you _ever_ had of impressing _any_ girl in the whole of London town!" Jules said, firmly, before turning her back to him, and disappearing to the back of the shop, where she gathered her things.

Her annoyance only continued when she turned to see Bucky still behind her, this time having actually had the guts to push through the curtain separating staff and guests.

"You are not supposed to be back here!"

"Jules-"

"Smithy!"

"Smithy, then," he said, exasperated, but there was laughter in his voice that infuriated her even more. "Look, I'm sorry, okay? Will you forgive a language barrier?"

"No," she snapped. "I'm neither 'frigid' nor- nor ' _loose_ ' and frankly I'm appalled any gentleman would suggest such a thing! _Jacko-"_

 _"What girl?"_ \- a gruff voice in response to her call.

"Well ma'am, I'm no gentleman-" Bucky replied.

"Jacko, this man is harassing me!"

"-and it's usually not such a problem that I'm not!"

 _"Jacko!"_ Jules shouted. "For god's sake, must a girl shout 'fire' for any help 'round here?"

_"Just boot him, Smithy, you know how!"_

"Don't _boot_ me," Bucky said quickly, throwing his hands up with a certain look of shock as she got ready to do just that, one of her high heels already in hand.

"I don't know what you expect out of me today, sir, but you'll have none of it!"

"I don't expect any of it!" he responded, his voice just as loud as hers now. "Who says I even _want_ any of it?"

Jules glared at him for a moment, setting as much of her insult aside to tune back into herself, observe his aura once more. Still icy blue. No bad intent, just embarrassment. She held back a smile.

"You don't want any?" she repeated, raising an eyebrow, as she put her shoe back on. "Well, now I'm insulted for an entirely different reason. Not pretty enough, am I?"

"No, ma'am, you're plenty pretty," Bucky said, quickly. "Plenty pretty- prettier than all the girls in New York, I just-" he stopped his sentence abruptly, noticing the smile on her face. "I just... realised that you let me off ages ago, and now you're just fishing for a compliment."

"Dear James, Tommy is not your friend," Jules grinned, tapping Bucky on the shoulder as she walked past. "He put you in a death trap."

"Really? I didn't realise," Bucky responded, his voice dripping sarcasm as he followed her out of staff exit, and into the street.

"Yes," Jules said. "See, if you say a girl's frigid, it's an insult, and if you say she's not it's just as bad. You've been swindled."   
"I'll kill him," Bucky said.

"You should," she nodded. "But not before you walk me home to make up for it."

"Oh, well, the lady demands it," he said, and she smiled, popping her head into the back doorway of The Firefly.

"Jacko!" she shouted.

_"Smithy! What now?"_

"He's walking me home!"

_"Your harasser? Did you boot him?"_

"I had the wrong impression!" Jules laughed. "G'night!"

The sky was beginning to darken past the comfortable twilight, and London was soon to enter into nightfall. Jules was surprised herself and Bucky had been talking, and arguing, for so long. She took it as a sign, though, that if the air raid siren hadn't gone off early, he couldn't be all bad.

"Were you really gonna 'boot' me?" Bucky asked, offering his arm as they began to walk.

"If you touched me, yes," Jules said, honestly. "And I would've _really_ shouted for Jacko, and he would've come, and brought half the lads from the bar with him. You'd have been done for."

"All because of Tommy." Bucky said, making her laugh.

"Bloody Tommy," she agreed.

"Is he family, then?" he asked, and she frowned.

"Tommy? How could he be, James? I don't know the lad," she joked. A knee jerk reaction. She hoped he'd drop it. He didn't.

"Not Tommy," Bucky laughed. "Jacko."

"Oh," she sighed, then shrugged. "He's as good as. All my people are up north. I'm not from here, you can't tell?"

"No, I can't, you all sound the same to me," he joked.

"What," Jules laughed, happy to turn the topic away from family. "You can't tell the difference between a Scotsman and a Cornishman?"

"Don't be dramatic, they're very similar," Bucky shrugged.

"They are _not!"_

"Whatever," he said, kicking his foot against the cobble stones as they walked. "Point is, I don't really know all that much about you, sugar."

"Well, we've hardly known each other for long," she laughed. "I'll answer any questions you have," she grinned.

"What did you do before the war?" he asked. Good. An easy question. Jules could answer that.

"More of the same," she shrugged. "I worked in a match factory in my hometown."

"What's in your hometown?"

"Nothing notable except ships and and water," Jules said, before a thought occurred to her. "We'll have a really famous band in about twenty years. Named after an insect. They'll put us on the map."

Bucky made a face at that, but he ultimately shook his head, and laughed it off. Jules laughed too, quite loudly, since this was her favourite thing to do. Tell people ridiculous facts about the future, and see how they react. Bucky apparently, simply thought she was joking.

"Twenty years, huh?" he said, as they walked arm in arm. "Why wait for them? Why not get your own name out there? You didn't sing your whole life?"

"I didn't sing except at home," she admitted truthfully. Jules was still getting used to performing for a room full of people who paid no attention, let alone ever pursuing music as a career.

"So why'd you start singing at The Firefly?" Bucky asked, and she bit back her smile. This man was really not short of questions. She'd go with the short answer.

"They put up an advert for entertainers," Jules said. "And Jacko was willing to pay me."

"Generously?"

"Six pounds a week," she said, proudly, nudging his side. "I sure hope you're not a fortune-hunter."

 _"Ha-ha,"_ Bucky said, sarcastically. "But why do you sing? Really?"

Not such an easy question to answer. Jules' thoughts wandered for a second, as she came to a halt, dropping Bucky's arm. It was moments like these that she was glad natural witches were so rare- she'd hate for anyone to be able to read her.

"Smithy?" Bucky said, her name causing her to snap out of her thoughts. She looked back at him, plastered on a wide smile.

"Sorry," she said. "I just... I was feeling light headed for a moment. Lost my balance. Forgive me."

"Oh, that's... fine," he replied, but there was still a frown on her face.

Brilliant. Now she only looked completely bonkers. Jules resumed her walk, and she was surprised not to hear Bucky give some excuse as to why he had to leave her. Instead, they walked, but he didn't offer his arm again.

It was entirely dark now, no sound except her high heels against the pavements. There never was noise after dark anymore. As if everyone was afraid the Nazis would hear them. Jules' eyes wandered toward the open sky, the lack of city light making it ever clearer.

Blackout wasn't yet for another hour, so they could all use domestic lights, but there were no streetlights, and nobody wants to make their home a bullseye for German pilots should they arrive early. Jules kept candles at home for that exact reason.

But if there was one positive about the Blitz, and blackouts, it was the ability to see the stars. If only she could read the night skies like her Aunt always could.

"A lot of people think a new moon is a cold, dead thing," Jules found herself saying, quietly, staring up at where the invisible moon lay.

"Isn't it?" Bucky asked, and she frowned at him. "We can't see it. It doesn't do its job."

"Just because we can't see a thing, doesn't mean there isn't a beauty to it," she pointed out. "A new moon takes the heat of the sun for us. Takes the heat of the Germans too, by keeping us in the dark. The full moon has no such consideration- she only wants to bask in glory."

"It is a glorious thing," he said, and she nodded.

"It is, in all phases," Jules smiled. "But I think I appreciate the new moon mostly, because others don't. It's always good to look past the obvious, James. See how the universe is helping us, even when it isn't illuminated. Even when it's pitch black."

They reached the door to her flat then, Jules tugging on the sleeve of Bucky's uniform to let him know their walk was over. She hopped up one of the steps, pulling her coat tightly around her.

"Thank you for walking me," she said, earnestly. "Even though you don't know me."

"It's not a problem, sugar," Bucky said, and her face heated to hear it again. "It's funny- we've been through almost all the stages of a relationship tonight."

"We have?" Jules asked, smiling widely at the amused expression on his face.

"Yes," he replied, in mock seriousness. "We've flirted, we've fought, you're already keeping a secret, and you've given me profound advice, too."

"Oh," she laughed. "Well, you have plenty of secrets yourself. You had so many questions, that I didn't get to ask you any!"

"Maybe I'll tell you my uninteresting life story if I see you again," Bucky said, and she was shocked that he would want to. Maybe he felt the pull, too?

"I'm at The Firefly every evening except Sundays," Jules said casually, and his smile grew. She turned, walking up the last two steps to the doorway. "I won't invite you up!"

"Not tonight," he shot back, cheekily, and she narrowed her eyes playfully.

"You're awful," she said, pushing her key in the door. "Goodnight, Bucky."

"You know what?" Bucky said, shoving his hands in his pockets. "I like James when you say it."

Jules tried not to let her flattery show too much in her face as she nodded, coolly.

"Goodnight, James."

"Goodnight, Smithy."


End file.
